


Love Is a Far More Dangerous Motive

by TracyLorde



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Edwardian Period, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake Marriage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracyLorde/pseuds/TracyLorde
Summary: Clarke's father has died, leaving her and her mother at the mercy of the heir to the estate. Bellamy Blake isn't at all the sort of person Clarke had seen herself marrying, but he holds the key to her mother's happiness, and she's not going to give that up easily. Not to mention, he's attractive in his way. Too bad he's an ass.





	1. A Modest Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by the premise of early Downton Abbey (as far as I remember, which isn't well).
> 
> Title credit to the lovely @goodqueenalys <3

“You understand,” Abby Griffin placed a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “that this is not what I wanted for you. This is hardly the life your father pictured for you.”

“I know, mother,” Clarke said matter of factly. “It’s not a life any of us pictured.”

It had been six months since Lord Griffin had passed, and Clarke and her mother were still dressed in full mourning. They had just received another bit of bad news, not as shocking or tragic, but unnerving all the same. The family lawyer had confirmed their worst fears: the estate was not to remain with them, the surviving family. Clarke, the sole child of Lord and Lady Griffin, would along with her mother lose the family estate and fortune the moment the heir (a distant male relative by marriage) came along to claim what was his. Clarke and her mother were to be thrown to the wolves, unless she could reach a peculiar kind of bargain with the man who suddenly held their future in his hands.

Lord Griffin’s heir, one Mr. Bellamy Blake, had never been to Griffin Manor in his life. What’s more, Clarke had never even met him. And yet, her only recourse now was to marry him. Unless she did that, and he accepted, she and her mother would be forced out and on their own.

It was unconscionable. Barbaric. But there was no way around it.

Clarke Griffin had to marry a man she’d never even met.

It wasn't a totally foreign concept, of course. Plenty of people married for practical reasons rather than affection. Clarke had weighed the costs and decided the benefits outreached them. But Abby had fought her daughter on it at first. She had been fortunate to enter into a loving marriage, though it ended too soon with her husband’s untimely death. She had never thought her daughter would be forced to choose marry for any reason other than love. And though she would suffer at the loss of the estate and her last ties to her departed husband, she would never have asked this of Clarke for her own sake.

Clarke wouldn't hear of it, though. She was all her mother had left. And the estate was their last tie to her father’s legacy. She would fight tooth and nail before she gave that up.

Bellamy Blake had been contacted by the family lawyer, immediately. A lawyer who, Clarke supposed, now worked for him primarily. Mr Blake and his sister were set to arrive the following week, and Clarke could only hope and pray he would be amenable to her terms. At the very least, should he reject her proposal, he must at least give her and her mother time to say goodbye.

She hoped he would have the good sense to accept. Marriage to Clarke wasn't an unreasonable offer. He was to inherit to the house, and the land, and her father's title regardless. But he wouldn't necessarily find a wife as accomplished and capable as her just anywhere. Particularly one willing to marry someone of such low birth. Not to mention, even a monster would feel the slightest pang of regret at pushing Clarke and her mother out of their home.

Clarke didn't think Bellamy was a monster, but she didn't know him at all. She’d read precisely two letters that he’d written over the span of more than a decade.

The first letter was written by a young fatherless boy who had just lost his mother, begging her father for enough money to buy food and keep his sister alive. Clarke had sensed reading it, even as a young child, that he’d hated to ask. Clarke’s father, of course, had set the Blakes up with a yearly stipend, and had paid for Bellamy’s commission and sister’s education. Abby, of course, had agreed that was the noble thing to do, and had written Octavia occasionally, particularly feeling for the girl having lost her mother at such a young age. Now, Bellamy had the ability to give them each a stipend…or not.

The second letter had been written just weeks ago, in response to their invitation for him to visit, after the lawyer had already contacted him. That letter read stiff and cold. Clarke read it over and over, wondering how exactly she was going to convince him to marry her, instead of just taking her estate and fortune. Bellamy Blake hadn't revealed much of himself in that letter. She didn’t have much information to go on at all.

“It’s not even that I mind making a fool of myself,” Clarke said to Raven, her childhood friend and closest confidant. “It’s that my mother has to go through this, after everything.”

“You know that you both are only thinking of each other,” Raven replied, setting down her bow. The girls were practicing archery on the lawn for what was possibly simultaneously the millionth time and the last time.

Raven had been Jake Griffin’s ward from the time she and Clarke were children, and the two girls had grown up as sisters. Raven had married Roan, Baron of Azgeda, two years prior, but Roan’s estate was adjacent to Griffin Manor, and Raven and Clarke saw each other nearly every day still.

“Your mother worries about you, you worry about her,” Raven continued. “But it’s all for nothing right now. You don’t know what this Mr. Blake will say, when he arrives.”

“No, but I’ve prepared myself for the worst,” Clarke said grimly, adjusting the brim of her hat and taking a seat for tea. “I don't know anything about him, so I can't assume he’ll be amenable to my proposal. I only know this: he served in the expeditionary force but was honorably discharged last year, his younger sister is just sixteen, and his mother died of scarlet fever when they were children.”

“How awful,” Raven said mildly, running her thumb along the tip of an arrow before discarding her quiver. “I expect he won’t know what to do with himself here, will he? Well, it doesn't matter. I expect he’ll see what needs to be done and agree to your terms.” She took a seat and gazed up at her friend curiously. “I understand that you think this is the right thing to do, Clarke. But are you sure you can go through with it?”

“It’s really the only choice,” said Clarke, practically. “What else would you have me do, Raven?”

“You and your mother can move in with me and Roan,” Raven said. “We’ve a bit of room, and you can finally make yourself useful in the kitchen.”

Clarke laughed. “You and I both know that’s not where my skills lie.”

“I do,” Raven chuckled. “Well, this Bellamy agrees, what next?”

“It really depends on how well I like him, I suppose.”

The day the Blake siblings were set to arrive at Griffin Manor Clarke had woken up in a foul mood. It wasn't pleasant to know that the person who was effectively stealing her future from her was going to show up in a few hours time. The entire house had been in an uproar for days, though Clarke had done her best to convince her mother not to overextend herself in order to please a man who'd done nothing to endear himself to them at that point.

Bellamy and his sister reached Griffin Manor at teatime. Riley, Abby’s driver, had gone to the station to meet them, and just after 4:00pm Clarke heard the wheels roll up the gravel drive. She had been enjoying her last few moments of peace in her father’s library when she heard the noise. With a deep sigh, she moved to the window with hopes of catching a glimpse of the mysterious Blakes.

A tall man exited the car first. He had curling dark hair, broad shoulders, and seemed extremely ill at ease. He paused briefly to stare up at the facade before him, then turned to help a young beautiful girl out of the carriage. That must be the sister, Clarke thought. She had bright eyes and an excited smile which balanced out her brother’s gravity.

“Are you ready, my dear?”

Clarke turned to see her mother waiting for her in the doorway, hand outstretched.

“I’m ready. I'm here.” She walked to meet her, and arm and arm the Griffin women made their way to the drawing room to receive their guests.

Bellamy Blake was rather quiet, a little cold, and extremely handsome. Up close, Clarke could see that his face was covered with freckles and his eyes were a deep brown flecked with gold. He greeted her with the merest flicker of interest, and immediately turned his attention to the window. His sister Octavia, on the other hand, couldn't seem to help herself from speaking. She was a slight young thing, with seemingly boundless energy. Her eyes kept darting around the room the entire time they were being introduced, and she seemed delighted by everything from the draperies to the mantelpiece.

“I just can’t believe we’re going to live here here!” she gushed. “I’ve never seen anything so grand in all my life, have you, Bell?”

“Certainly not,” said Bellamy gruffly, and, Clarke thought, a bit disdainfully.

“Would you care to see your room?” Abby asked, looking at Octavia kindly. “I can show you the parlor you and your brother will share for the time being, as well as the rest of the house if you'd like.”

“Oh, may I, Bellamy?”

He nodded, and Abby gave Clarke a look as she escorted Octavia from the room.

“Your mother means to give us a moment alone,” Bellamy said, taking a seat by the window.

Clarke raised an eyebrow, still not sure what to make of this handsome stranger.

“I expect so. I understand the awkwardness you must be feeling, and I trust you appreciate the delicate nature of the situation I find myself it.”

“Delicate, yes,” Bellamy laughed coldly. “I understand that you wish to marry me in order to keep your family’s estate.”

Clarke flushed. She hadn't expected him to be quite so blunt but she quickly recovered. “I see you have assessed the situation perfectly.”

“It’s not terribly complex, is it?” Bellamy replied, staring at her with an odd expression. “The estate ought to remain with you, but instead it comes to me. My sister doesn't deserve the poor lot in life she’s been handed, but she doesn't quite deserve this all to herself either.”

“So…you agree?”

Bellamy stood and turned towards the window. “I don't think I’ve much of a choice, do I?”

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “Believe me, sir, you do. You are well within your rights to toss me and my mother out with barely a penny to our names.”

Bellamy turned back. “I may be within my rights, but I could never do such a thing. If anyone ever treated Octavia the way the law expects me to treat you…” he trailed off.

“You love your sister. That's admirable.”

“She’s the only reason I’m here at all,” he said simply, turning back to look her in the eye. “I would never have replied to your letter if it were just me.”

“I love my mother,” Clarke replied. “I’d never have sent it if it weren't for her.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed Bellamy’s face, but he set his jaw in a hard line in lieu of a reply.

“So,” Clarke pressed, “I don't care to be doing this, and neither do you. But here we are. So we may as well give it a try.”

Bellamy’s mouth twitched. “Has the sacrament of marriage become somewhat diminished during my time in the army?”

“Hardly.” Clarke took a seat and indicated that he do the same. “Here is what I propose. We enter into an engagement, and you and you sister move in here. We give it a period of a few months, and presuming that we can stand to live with each other for that time, we go through with the marriage. You can give your sister everything you’ve ever wanted, and I can ensure my mother’s comfort.”

Bellamy leaned forward in his seat. “Very reasonable. And how are we to live, if we go through with the marriage, as you say?”

“However you like,” Clarke replied stiffly. “You can keep a mistress to your chambers if you choose, you can have the entire house for your own. I just ask that you allow me and my mother to live in on much as we have. We don’t require much.”

Bellamy’s face darkened.

“I hope I haven't said anything to offend you, Mr. Blake,” Clarke said hastily. “But I find it best to be upfront and honest from the start in such matters.”

“You may be right,” he said, “but you don't know me at all. Perhaps you should try to understand me before you relegate me so swiftly to the role of casanova.”

“I apologize,” Clarke replied sincerely. “Truly. I merely wanted to promise you as much freedom as possible, and if you chose to live in truth as my husband, I can ensure I will be faithful as well.”

She saw the flicker of interest in Bellamy’s eye again.

“I thank you for your honesty, but argue with your assessment of me. I may not have asked for this. I may not even want it. But I can assure you that if we marry, I will be the perfect husband to you.”

Clarke blinked. She had not expected anything of the sort to come from his lips. Before she could reply, her mother and Octavia had rejoined them.

“You’ll be pleased to hear, Lady Griffin, that your daughter and I have reached a suitable arrangement,” Bellamy said in a matter of fact tone.

Octavia squealed in response and ran to hug her brother.

Abby gave Clarke a long and measured look. Clarke nodded. Abby pursed her lips, and then extended her hand to Bellamy. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Blake.”

Clarke felt the blood pounding in her ears as she stared at Bellamy reciprocating her mother’s grasp. She was on the cusp of the next stage of her life, a stage over which it appeared she had little to no control. She didn't like it one bit.

For the time being, Bellamy and Octavia moved into the East wing. They each had quite a sizable room which overlooked the gardens, and they shared a sitting room. It was understood that after the marriage Bellamy would take over the master chambers, but he’d insisted very firmly to Clarke that he not displace her mother in the meantime. Two of the staff were assigned to the Blakes. Jasper was to be Bellamy’s footman, and Fox was to be Octavia’s lady’s maid. Bellamy seemed quite uncomfortable with the arrangement at first, but Jasper quickly put him at ease with his constant humor. Clarke congratulated herself for making such a suitable choice.

Octavia took quite enthusiastically to life at Griffin Manor. Each morning was a thrill to her, with new clothes bursting from her wardrobe, three types of jam served at breakfast, and the entire estate to explore. The first thing Bellamy did with his new found resources was hire a tutor for her. Mr. Montgomery Green had been Oxford educated and now lived in the village nearby. He came by three days a week to work on Octavia’s Latin, German, and botany. Bellamy had also hired Miss Vie, a piano teacher for her, which was just as well since the very fine piano had lain dormant for years now. Clarke had never been very interested in music, preferring to paint and read in her spare time.

Bellamy, on the other hand, did not seem to adjust to his new life as well as his sister. He wore the same two shirts over and over until Jasper complained to Clarke and she sent to London for a dozen new shirts. Bellamy grudgingly thanked her, but it seemed to please him that Jasper was pleased.

He spent his first few days learning the lay of the manor and grounds. Clarke took him on a very thorough tour of both. His favorite area, it was quickly evident, was her father’s library. He began to spend most of his time there, pouring over the volumes. He looked like a child on Christmas morning the first time Clarke had taken him there, his eyes lighting up with amazement.

“Your father must have been very proud of his collection,” Bellamy murmured, craning his neck back to try and get a view of the entire shelf he was facing.

Clarke smiled despite herself, unable to conceal the pleasure she found in his first impression of the room. “He was. He’s got everything from Aristotle to Darwin to Oscar Wilde, and a first edition of all four volumes of The Fall of the Roman Empire.”

Bellamy’s eyes grew even wider. “Might I see it?”

Clarke nodded and gestured to the glass case across the room where those volumes lived, away from bright light and mischievous fingers. She retrieved the key from her father’s desk, and gently opened the case.

“This belongs to you, now,” she said a little wistfully, holding the key for Bellamy to take, who seemed surprised and unwilling to take it at first.

“That’s not entirely true,” he objected. “It belongs to us both.”

His fingers brushed her palm as he accepted the key, and he smiled at her for the first time since they’d met.

Clarke met his tentative smile with a bright one of her own. “My father would be happy to know that his collection is in the hands of someone who can appreciate it.”

Bellamy turned back to the case to hide the blush on his cheeks.

Clarke began to think that maybe they really were going to make this work. To be sure, it was far from a storybook romance, but that had never been what she’d wanted. She grew up wanting a love like her parents had, something deep and strong and real. She wanted a parter who would respect her and who she could rely on. She even began to hope against hope that she and Bellamy might one day love each other.

It wasn't completely out of the question. To be sure, neither of them had foreseen this circumstance, and it would take some getting used to, but they weren't completely at odds.

Clarke loved her mother, and Bellamy respected that. He clearly admired Abby as well. And Bellamy’s love for his sister revealed a tenderness that Clarke may not have seen so quickly otherwise. She wondered if he had the capacity for tenderness in other relationships as well. He was certainly more comfortable around her than he had been when they first arrived. He would go to her first with questions about the household and his responsibilities, not because he didn't like Abby, but because he seemed to want to build a trust between Clarke and himself. That trust, she was sure, had the potential to blossom into something more.

She and Bellamy had been getting along so well lately. In fact, the awkwardness at their initial encounter seemed to have vanished completely. It looked to her that Bellamy had appreciated her straightforwardness and once he’d set her straight about the type of man he was she was learning to appreciate him in return.

He certainly didn't love everything about his new life. But he’d spoken at length with Clarke and her mother about the details of the household management, had fully inspected the staff quarters, and interviewed each of them from the housekeeper to the stable boy. He’d been satisfied at the end of it, and agreed to allow Clarke to manage the house in the same way. He’d confessed he’d never had servants of any kind, so he’d been nervous about living in a home that was run by them, but he agreed that the situation was amenable for them as well, and that their accommodations and pay were more than fair.

Clarke had tried to keep her expectations in check, but after weeks of living in the same home as Bellamy, she felt that she was slowly getting to know him. She liked him, and she was sure he liked her. They had developed a camaraderie of sorts, and she’d adopted an older sister attitude towards Octavia that had made Bellamy smile on more than one occasion. Surely, in time, she and Bellamy could learn to love each other.

This dream came crashing down at her feet a few weeks into their engagement. Abby had planned a party, where friends and family were to join them in celebrating Clarke’s upcoming marriage to the heir of the Griffin estate. Clarke found herself growing rather excited, despite her best efforts to remain level headed. She bought herself a new dress for the first time since her father died, and not wearing black after so long would be strange.

The day before the party, an old friend of Bellamy’s arrived. Mr. John Murphy was, by all accounts, a scoundrel. He’d been at school with Bellamy, but Clarke’s first impression of him was less than positive. He seemed sly, sarcastic, untrustworthy. She’d written it off a friendship formed when her fiancé was young and without many options for suitable companionship, but wondered if he’d come to celebrate with his friend or to make trouble.

She’d been meaning to ask Bellamy what he planned to wear for the party, since she wanted to make sure her gown would coordinate with his attire. After taking her daily walk in the garden, she decided on a whim to stop by Bellamy’s chambers. She knew he’d have to dress for dinner, and since he wasn't in the library he must be there. He didn't spend time anywhere else.

Octavia was just leaving as she arrived, passing her down the hall and twirling in her new dress.

“Hello, Clarke!” she said cheerfully. “Don’t you love this shade of pink? Your mother said that she’d practice proper table etiquette with me before the party, so I'm off to do that.”

“You look lovely, Octavia,” Clarke smiled fondly. “I’ll see you at dinner. I’m just here to speak with your brother briefly.”

“He’s with John,” Octavia said as she skipped away.

For no real reason, Clarke paused just outside the sitting room. She could hear Bellamy and his friend speaking in low voices. She stepped a bit closer.

“…it’s not what I expected to find,” Murphy was saying, “When you wrote me to say you were getting married.”

“It’s not what I expected for my own life,” Bellamy agreed.

“I always saw you more as the professor type.”

Clarke could hear the tinkle of glassware over Bellamy’s laugh.

“Well, this is my life now,” Bellamy replied finally, his voice resigned.

“Are you really going through with it?”

There was a pause. Clarke felt her heart beating faster in her chest.

“I am,” Bellamy replied finally. “It’s the right thing to do. I want to give Octavia the life that she deserves, and I’m not going to ruin anyone else’s life to do it.”

Murphy sighed. “Such an honorable man you’ve become. I have to say, this fiancee of yours is quite beautiful. Shame she’s no fun.”

Clarke felt her cheeks growing hot.

“Who’s to say she’s not?” said Bellamy, a little coldly.

“I’ve got eyes. She’s quite a looker, but looks aren't everything. If I were you, I’d keep the house and ditch the girl.”

“We’re all very thankful that you haven't been given such a choice.”

“Seriously, Blake. You can’t really intend to marry her.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not obligated to, for one. Let her mother live her, let her live here even, as long as they like. You can marry someone who you actually like rather than keeping up this charade.” Murphy’s voice grew surprisingly sincere as he continued. “She doesn’t understand men like us, and never will. She’s a spoiled princess who’s never worked a day in her life. You’ve nearly died trying to keep your sister alive on more than one occasion. She’d never understand that. She’s not good enough for you, plain and simple. ”

There was another pause, then: “You’re right. She may never understand me, and she has no incentive to. But I’ve made a promise. I’m a man of my word.”

“That’s the most infuriating thing about you, frankly…”

Clarke felt the tears sting in her eyes and she bolted for her chambers. Only once she’d safely closed the door behind her did she catch her breath.

So this was the truth. Bellamy didn't respect her at all. He didn't even like her.

Clarke paused in front of her mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment, her eyes shining with anger. She unclenched her fist and placed a hand gently on the locket she always wore. It had been a gift from her father on her 16th birthday. The memory of that day, an extremely happy one, calmed her.

Bellamy Blake and John Murphy were wrong about her. But there was no going back now. The party was tomorrow, the wedding set for the following month. He clearly wasn't going to back down, and neither would she. She was just as much a woman of her word as he was a man of his.

How dare he speak of her that way? How dare he allow his friend to insult her in his presence? Clarke could feel her blood rising again. She threw herself on the bed, heart still pounding angrily.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Griffin,” a timid voice said from the door, “But it’s time for your fitting.”

Clarke sat up and waved her ladies maid in. “That’s fine, Zoe, no need to apologize. I’ve changed my mind about the dress, though.”

“Not the blue beaded chiffon, miss?”

“No,” said Clarke definitively, glaring at her reflection in the mirror. “I want to wear the red silk.”

The red silk, it should be noted, was significantly more low cut than the blue chiffon. Clarke had decided the party tomorrow was going to be a war zone, and she for one intended to take no prisoners.


	2. Foray and Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke decides how exactly she'll handle the revelation that her fiancé thinks so poorly of her. Bellamy, unfortunately, has no idea what went wrong between them.

That night at dinner Clarke did her best not to let on that she’d overheard Bellamy’s conversation earlier. She smiled warmly at Octavia, laughed politely at Mr. Murphy’s jokes, and even answered Bellamy’s questions about how she’d spent her day. Her mother was in bed early, exhausted from party preparations, which was fortunate since she was sure Abby would have noticed that her behavior was a little stiff.

Bellamy, however, had noticed something was off, despite her best efforts. After dinner, when Octavia headed to bed and Murphy headed outside to smoke, he caught her eye.

“Are you well, Clarke?”

Clarke fixed a smile on her face. “Perfect. Anticipating tomorrow night, that’s all.”

Bellamy frowned. “You’re sure nothing’s weighing on your mind?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she laughed. “What could possibly be weighing on my mind? If you’ll excuse me, I have to get some rest, and I expect Mr. Murphy will want to join you for brandy in the study.”

And with that she left him standing alone, a distressed look on his face.

The next day, the house was bustling with party preparations. Flowers were being arranged on every possible surface, the food was being set out and the silver polished, and the staff were eagerly anticipating the festivities. Abby had checked on Clarke earlier, and after her daughter’s repeated assurances that she was fine, she’d gone to oversee the rest of the decorating.

Clarke remained in bed all morning, idly turning the pages of a book without absorbing a word. She knew her mother would be busy, so no one was likely to come looking for her.

She had her lunch brought to her, then in the afternoon took a long bath before getting dressed. Her maid curled and styled her hair in quite an elaborate fashion. The jewelry she’d chosen for the occasion were family heirlooms she’d never worn before: a diamond pendant, and a bracelet that she wear over her long black velvet gloves. Last: the dress.

The dress she’d chosen had been designed with a demure lace panel over the bodice, but Clarke had asked her maid to remove that in order to inflict maximum damage. She did look, as she surveyed the final product in the mirror, flawless. Perhaps she was a spoiled princess after all. More importantly though, she looked fun.

She’d heightened the flush in her cheeks with rogue, done up her eyes with shadow, and worn a rather musky perfume. She hadn't spent this much time on her appearance ever in her life, but this was a special occasion. And she’d never embraced the outward, vapid, silly side of being a woman of her worth before. If she was going to be judged for her money and her status by her own fiancé, she was at least going to enjoy all the benefits of those things.

A knock on her sitting room door just as she was pulling on her gloves startled her out of her reverie.

“Who is it, Zoe?”

Zoe opened the door slightly, then glanced back at Clarke. “It’s Mr. Blake, miss.”

Clarke felt her heart beating a little faster. She hadn't anticipated him showing up at her chambers.

“You may let him in, and then go. I’m quite ready. Thank you, Zoe.”

Clarke drew herself up and walked from her bedroom to meet him. She was pleased to notice that he seemed quite overwhelmed at her appearance.

“Clarke…you look incredibly beautiful,” he murmured. He stepped forward and handed her a small box. “This is a little late, and probably not anything like what you deserve, but…”

Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn't going to make this easy for her, apparently.

She opened the box to see a small gold ring. It was an oval onyx stone, inlaid with a tiny diamond.

“It’s lovely,” she said, sincerely, then reminded herself what he’d said about her yesterday. “I don't think I can wear it tonight.” She held up her gloved hands.

Bellamy flushed and nodded. “Of course. Allow me.” He took the box back, snapping it closed, and set it on her desk.

“Thank you.” Clarke smiled coldly. “Help me with this?” She extended the dazzling diamond bracelet to him. “I can’t get it fastened in these gloves.”

Bellamy cleared his throat and nodded. It took him a few tries since he was clearly not used to such delicate jewelry, but in a moment he’d fixed it on her wrist. He hand lingered on hers for a moment before she pulled away.

“I thought we might walk down together,” he said by way of an explanation.

“A good thought,” Clarke nodded. “We ought to begin to pretend we’re really in this thing, I suppose, and tonight is as good a time as ever.”

Bellamy furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry to mention this again, but I cant shake the feeling that something has gone wrong between us. These past two days, you’ve seemed…not quite yourself.”

“Not quite myself?” Clarke laughed falsely. “Whatever can you mean! I assure you, Mr. Blake, that I’m as much myself now as I ever have been, at least in your eyes.”

“Are you going to wait until we’re married to call me by my Christian name?” Bellamy asked, a smile creeping over his face.

Clarke couldn't deny that seeing him smile got as close as possible to melting her heart. But she was determined to live up to his expectations of her, no matter how attractive she might find him at moments. She thrust her jaw in the air and steeled herself for the task ahead.

“Would you like me to call you by it now?” she simpered, holding her arm out for him to take.

“Whenever you're ready, I suppose,” he murmured, and taking her arm led her downstairs.

They were greeted by a round of applause from all the guests when the reached the landing. Clarke saw friends of her father’s, Lord Thelonious Jaha and Lord Marcus Kane with his mother Lady Vera, as well as many friends of her own, including Raven on the arm of her husband. Octavia and Abby were beaming up at them, and the genuine joy in their faces tugged at Clarke’s heart. She was going to need some assistance to get through the evening.

“Would you mind terribly getting me a cup of punch, Bellamy?”

He still seemed unnerved by her demeanor, but he nodded and made his way towards the refreshments, stopping every two feet to shake the hand of some insistent guest or other.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Raven said, sidling up next to Clarke, “But why does it feel like you’re up to something?”

Clarke arched an eyebrow and turned to face her friend. “My fiancé thinks I’m a spoiled princess who’s not good enough for him.”

Raven laughed. “Well! That is…not terribly shocking considering your disparate backgrounds, I suppose.”

Clarke pursed her lips.

“Did he write it in a sonnet, or…?”

“No, I overheard him talking with his friend Mr. Murphy.”

“Clarke! Were you eavesdropping?”

“Accidentally!” Clarke replied defensively.

Before Raven had a chance to ask a follow up question, Bellamy had returned with a cup of punch for Clarke.

“Mr. Blake,” Raven nodded cooly.

“Lady Azgeda,” Bellamy nodded back, and immediately redirected his attention to Clarke. “Successful party so far? I’m not a good judge of these things.”

“Oh, I am,” Clarke replied airily. “I live for parties and other frivolous nonsense, you must know that by now.”

Bellamy frowned.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?” he asked in a low tone. “You look flushed.”

“That’s the rouge, dear,” Clarke said, and finished her cup of punch. “Another, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a hundred people to talk to and I’ve no interest in doing it sober.”

“Would you excuse us?” Bellamy said to Raven, who nodded and made a graceful exit.

Bellamy took Clarke by the elbow and gently steered her into the study.

He closed the door and turned to face her, brows knit together in frustration.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Clarke said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And would you mind not manhandling me, if at all possible? I realize that might be a difficult habit to break, but I’d appreciate it if you didn't act that way with me.”

Bellamy’s cheeks blushed and he bit his lower lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But I’d appreciate honesty from you, and I don't think I’m getting it.”

Clarke’s chin shot into the air. “I’ve been perfectly straightforward with you, Bellamy Blake. I’ve never pretended to be anything I’m not. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but I’m just a spoiled girl who’s lost her fortune and her home and been forced to beg a perfect stranger to marry her, a common—“

“What? A common what?” Bellamy’s nostrils flared. “Do you think I like this any more than you do? I’m doing this for my sister, like I said in the beginning.”

“Of course you are,” Clarke sneered. “Octavia’s the only one to benefit from this huge estate and your newfound fortune.”

The muscle in Bellamy’s jaw jumped. Clarke was almost mesmerized by it, but she stayed focused.

“At any rate,” Bellamy said angrily, “I don't see how getting drunk in front of all your guests tonight will do you any good. But do as you like, you clearly don't care an ounce for my opinion, or anything about me.”

Clarke remembered the ring, sitting abandoned on her desk upstairs. The tears pricked at her eyes. She reminded herself that despite one thoughtful gift, he didn't care at all for her either. She knew how he privately thought of her.

“That’s rich, coming from you. Don't pretend that this is anything more than a marriage of convenience for the both of us. Yes, for you too…not for Octavia, leave her out of this. You and I both benefit from this arrangement, but there’s no reason for us to spend any more time together than necessary.”

Bellamy drew in a sharp breath, but Clarke didn't waver.

“We need to put on a good face. Pretend you enjoy my company, as much as it may pain you. Then at the end of the night you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine. We needn’t see each other again until the wedding.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Bellamy replied in a savage tone. He extended his arm to her as if it were a challenge. “Shall we?”

Clarke accepted, eyes set dead ahead. She had just enough time to fix a false smile on her face before they rejoined the party.

—

Per their arrangement, Clarke and Bellamy barely saw each other for the next few weeks. Clarke handled most of the wedding arrangements herself, and Bellamy spent his days hidden away in the library or taking Octavia riding. They nodded and exchanged a few pleasantries at meals, but that was the extent of their interactions.

The tension between them did not escape Clarke’s mother. Abby was concerned for her daughter, which she expressed in confidence one day before dinner when Bellamy was out driving.

“You don't seem your usual self, Clarke. Are you sure everything is alright? You and Bellamy spend hardly any time together these days. Since the party, even.”

Clarke hated to lie to her mother, but reminded herself it was for Abby’s own good.

“I’m fine, really. It’s just pre-wedding nerves, I think. We’re trying to keep our distance out of respect for tradition.”

Abby sighed. “If you insist. Well, I am planning on having all my things moved from the master suite by tomorrow, so that you and Bellamy can start moving in.”

Clarke was genuinely taken aback. She’d completely forgotten that was to be part of the arrangement. She’d thought about Bellamy moving in there, just not about moving in with him.

“That’s fine, mother. I'm sure that’s plenty of time. I’ll tell Jasper to start moving Bellamy’s things in tomorrow.”

“Why don't you tell Bellamy yourself? He should be back soon.”

“I think I’ll go to bed, actually. I’m quite tired.” Clarke rose from her chair. “You can tell him yourself, if you like.”

And with that, she slipped away to enjoy her solitude while she could.

The days dragged on, silent and dreary. It was a rainy spring that year, and Clarke was hard pressed to find even twenty minutes when it was dry enough to spend outside in the gardens. The day before the wedding she'd just had her final dress fitting and she felt she’d go mad if she didn't go for a walk alone.

She grabbed a shawl and put on a pair of rubber boots and then headed outside. The ground was soft underneath, and the scent of rain soaked flowers hung heavily in the air. She made her way around the entirety of the gardens and was on her way back when she slipped in a patch of mud and feel flat on her back, legs kicking wildly. She managed to get to her feet a moment later, laughing uncontrollably and quite covered in dirt. It was then she saw Bellamy, standing just outside the parlor. His face shifted from concern to amusement when he realized she was alright.

Clarke flushed, but couldn’t help but think there was a softness to the way he looked at her in that moment.

“Are you hurt, Clarke?”

“I’m fine,” Clarke replied, still laughing despite herself. “That’s what I get for taking a walk in this weather.” She brushed the mud from her skirt as best she could. “Did you need something?”

“Do you have a moment? I thought we might talk.”

“I’m not going to sit inside like this—”

“Here’s as good a place as any.” Bellamy gestured to a stone bench beside them.

“Very well.” Clarke took a seat, and Bellamy took one next to her.

They were mere inches apart. Her arms pimpled with goosebumps, though that may just have been from the chill in the air. It was certainly true that hey hadn't been in such close proximity since the night of the party.

Bellamy took a deep breath and began. “I thought we might try and make peace before the ceremony tomorrow. I know I’ve offended you on more than one occasion, and I do apologize sincerely for that. I want you to know that I’m grateful for the kindness you and your mother have shown Octavia, truly. You’ve been very welcoming to her, and she feels quite at home here.”

He paused, rubbing his hands together a little nervously.  
“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, you and I. I think we can still make this work, if you want to try.”

Clarke felt her heart rise into her throat, but she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Work how, exactly? What are you proposing?”

“A truce,” Bellamy laughed awkwardly.

It was nice to hear him laugh, Clarke had to admit.

“I don't expect you to fall madly in love with me, or even like me, but for the sake of our families we should try to keep the peace. Octavia asked me if everything was alright between us. She said you seemed sad and I seemed angry. I lied, of course, and told her we were fine. But we’re not fine, Clarke. We can’t go on like this, not as husband and wife.”

Clarke thought back to her mother’s concerns. “You may be right. I propose a truce, and a compromise.”

“What are your terms?” said Bellamy humorously.

“We remain cordial, affectionate even, with each other in public. It will put my mother and your sister at ease. Moreover, when you move into the master quarters I’ll move in with you.”

“I suppose…that makes sense. We ought to at least move all our things there to escape suspicion. But I don't think it’s necessary to share a bed. I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I’ll set up a cot in an adjacent dressing room, or something. I’m sure I’ll be more at home there, anyway.”

Clarke felt something akin to jealously rising in her. She suppressed it.

“That will be fine. You may have to tell Jasper, though, if that’s what you’re planning to do. It’s impossible to keep that kind of secret from your manservant.”

Bellamy cleared his throat. “Jasper will be…discreet. I’ve already appraised him of the unique nature of our situation.”

Clarke flushed. For some reason, that stung. She knew the situation between herself and Bellamy was a mess, but it was their mess, no one else’s. Still, no good would come of her being upset by Jasper, of all people.

“Very well. It’s settled, then.” Clarke rose from her seat.

Bellamy stood as well, his eyes searching her face.

“You’re sure you want to follow through with this, Clarke? I promise, I won’t ask again. But you’ve seemed so…unhappy lately. I don’t like to think I’ve caused such unhappiness.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Clarke scoffed. “Your presence has very little to do my happiness, one way or the other.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to flush. He clenched his jaw and drew himself up.

“Very well.”

And with that, he made his way towards the house, leaving Clarke covered in mud and cursing herself for her pride.

The morning of the wedding Clarke rose early and took a long bath. She hadn't slept at all well, playing Bellamy’s conversation over and over in her head all night. She had her breakfast in her room, and put on a show of happiness for Abby when she arrived to help the bride get ready. Octavia came too, practically beside herself with excitement, and she kept Abby occupied for the most part.

“I’m just so happy to have a sister, and a mother again,” the younger girl confessed, choosing a ribbon to tie in her hair as Abby approved the hairstyle her ladies maid had worked for Clarke.

Abby smiled, a little sadly. “We’re happy to have you in the family too, dear.”

Clarke extended a hand to Octavia and one to her mother as she took one last look in the mirror. She forced a bright, hopeful smile on her face.

No need for either of them to suffer like she was. It was all for them, after all.

Clarke’s dress was fairly simple, a cool white with a cream lace about the neck and waist. It was stylish, elegant, and suited her perfectly. Clarke bit her lip as she thought what Bellamy might think of her appearance—not that it mattered.

“Careful, dear,” Abby said gently. “You’ll smudge your makeup.”

The house was full of flowers and food when they left, ready for the crowds of wedding guests to return on the heels of the ceremony.

Clarke barely remembered kneeling at the alter of the parish church with Bellamy at her side, barely remembered the vows and the hymns and the faces of the congregation. The rest of the festivities were a blur to Clarke as well. She hadn't eaten much in days, and the cold metal band was so strange on her finger. She saw Bellamy playing with his ring too and knew he felt the same.

He hadn't reacted much at the sight of her, though Clarke secretly thought he he'd steeled himself to show as little as possible in his face. She’d seen a slight nervousness in him, but that was to be expected. She was on his arm most of the day, taking small sips of her drink and smiling to keep from crying. She was exhausted and only wanted to be left alone.

Finally, hours later, after each guest had been greeted and thanked, she heaved a sigh of relief.

“Do you think we can slip away?” Bellamy whispered to her, and the intimacy of his tone surprised her.

“I think so,” she replied gratefully, and with her hand still in his he led her away from the throngs of people and around and up the back stairs.

It felt like ages before they’d reached their new chambers. Zoe and Jasper, under the housekeeper’s watchful eye, had arranged everything perfectly. Clarke sighed and immediately kicked off her shoes.

Bellamy chuckled. “Those did look uncomfortable.”

“It was bad luck to wear them in advance, apparently,” Clarke shrugged, taking a seat on the bed. “Not sure what good luck would look like in our case, anyway.”

Bellamy nodded. “Jasper’s set up the cot in the dressing room, but do you mind if I read out here for a bit?” He gestured to one of the large chairs by the window.

“I don’t mind, if you don’t,” said Clarke in a defiant tone as she hoisted up her skirts and began to strip her stockings.

“Jesus, Clarke!” Bellamy looked away. “I’ll go in the closet while you’re changing, if you want.”

Clarke chuckled a little to herself and continued to undress. The wine seemed to finally be hitting her.

“Suit yourself. We are married, however strangely, so that seems a little odd if you ask me.”

“Nothing about our situation isn't odd,” Bellamy muttered, and he made his way to the closet.

By the time he emerged, Clarke had put on her nightdress and was sitting in bed reading.

He was wearing pajamas and a dressing gown, and Clarke noticed his curly hair was quite messy. There was a kind of vulnerability in his manner toward her now that she found attractive, despite her better judgement.

He nodded at her, set a pair of glasses on his nose, and began to read in a chair next to the window.

Clarke stared at him for a moment, then set down her book, turned out her light, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She heard Bellamy turn out his own light, and creep into the closet a few minutes later.

She sighed heavily. A foolish tear sprang to her eyes and she wiped it away quickly. This was not the wedding night she’d ever pictured, to say the least.


	3. A Snake in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Clarke's past visits Griffin Manor, causing tensions between Bellamy and Clarke to reach a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long (it's like two months late, I know I know). Thanks for your patience :)

Clarke and Bellamy had agreed their public interactions should reinforce the idea that they were, if not over the moon with happiness, at the very least least not mutually loathing each other more and more every day.

Octavia was easy enough to convince. She was young and naive and willing to accept that they were happy. Abby, on the other hand, was a tougher mark. Clarke knew her mother kept a watchful eye on the two of them, though she’d never try to interfere. She worried, as mothers did. It was up to her, Clarke supposed, to provide a suitable distraction.

“She hasn't asked you directly since the wedding?” Raven said one afternoon while Clarke was over for tea. “About you and Bellamy, I mean.”

“No.” Clarke shook her head. “I don't suppose she thinks we’re madly in love, or anything, but its possible that she doesn't know exactly how distant we are from each other.”

“She’s not expecting grandchildren any time soon, then?”

“Hardly,” Clarke laughed. “I think she hopes we’ll learn to love each other, but that seems impossible at the moment.”

Raven glanced at her friend curiously. “You’re sure? I know you don't care for him now, and I know he’s an ass, but there does seem to be a kind of connection between the two of you.”

“Connection?” Clarke’s eyes were fixed on her teacup. “Of what kind?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. The two of you seem to understand each other on a certain level, even if you don't like each other.”

Clarke frowned. “That may be true. I’m just grateful he hasn't tried to control me or my life in a material way.”

“As if anyone could,” Raven chuckled. “You know that Roan and I weren't exactly a love match either, at first, but it’s worked out between the two of us, and we’re very happy now.”

“You’re very lucky,” Clarke replied sincerely, “But I don't think I will be as fortunate. It’s too complex, and we’re both too set in our ways. He’ll never see me for who I really am. And I don't care to convince him to. It’s not worth the effort.”

“It might be, if it would increase your happiness at all.”

“I’m perfectly content, Raven. My life is much as it always was, only now people think I’ve married a nobody. It doesn't matter to me what they think. I can spend my days as I like, my mother is happy, and I don't have to concern myself with money or security.”

“You don't wonder what would happen if you fell in love?”

“I don’t see that in my future with Bellamy,” Clarke replied dryly.

“No, not your husband,” Raven teased. “Someone else. It could happen, you know.”

“I don’t wonder. Honestly, I really don’t. Given that this part of my future is settled I can live exactly as I like. If I ever begin to feel too idle, Dr. Jackson can use my help at the hospital.”

Raven smiled. Her friend had never been accused of being idle, and she’d only made herself more useful about the hospital since her marriage.

“I’m satisfied with my life, Raven, I really am. He’s a nuisance, but he serves a vital purpose. And his sister’s sweet. I’m happy to ensure she has a good life as well. I’m only worried that my mother will start to notice how distant Bellamy and I really are from each other.”

“There are ways to distract her, you know.”

“Anything particular you have in mind?”

“I think she might find herself less consumed with your love affair if she had one of her own. I do seem to remember Lord Kane seemed particularly attentive to her on your wedding day.”

Clarke frowned. She hadn't exactly been in a position to notice things going on around her that day.

“Do you think your mother would be interested?” Raven continued. “He’s a recent widower as well, you know. I think they have a good deal in common.”

“I’ll ask her for her thoughts on him,” Clarke agreed. ‘It’s a good plan, and if she’s happy, I’ll be happy. I’ll do my best to make the match.”

“By the way,” Raven continued, “Finn Collins in back in town.”

“Back?” Clarke raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Back from where?”

“I believe since you rejected him he’s been abroad. America mostly. But he was seen just arriving from London the other day.”

“You know him better than I do, Raven. Do you think he’s going to leave well enough alone, or…” Clarke trailed off grimly.

Raven pursed her lips. “Not likely. If I were you, I would simply refuse any invitations he might send you.”

Mr. Finn Collins had been Clarke’s first (and shortest) love. Her infatuation had lasted mere weeks until she realized he was not the man she’d actually thought he was (a plucky young lawyer who’d happened upon her while out walking one day), but was actually a freshly disbarred scoundrel come to ask an old family friend (the newly married Raven) for money.  
Raven had given him some on the condition that he would go away and not return until he’d sorted his life out. He hadn't made it very far.

The minute Clarke had realized who Finn was, and what his true intentions were, she’d sent him packing. It hurt, at first, to realize that he hadn't been attracted to much outside her naivety and wealth, but it was a good learning experience for sixteen year old Clarke.

Now, seven years later, the prospect of seeing him again filled her with more amusement then trepidation. What could half a decade in America have given him other than poor manners and a disregard for convention?

“I would hope he doesn't attempt to contact me,” she replied to Raven. “Besides, he must have heard that I had married.”

“He married as well, from what I heard.”

“He did?”

“And divorced in quick succession.”

So he was still trouble after all this time. Clarke sighed, but she couldn’t help wondering how Bellamy would react to the knowledge that her first romance had returned. It seemed doubtful at this point that he’d even care at all.

She didn't have to wait long to find out. The very next week, Clarke came home from helping at the hospital in town to find her mother, Octavia, and Bellamy all having tea with none other than Mr. Finn Collins.

For some reason, a blush stained her cheeks immediately.

It wasn't for Finn. She hadn’t felt anything for him in years, barely remembered him. She certainly didn't feel anything for him now. It was the idea of what might be running through Bellamy’s mind. She had no way of knowing how much he knew of her past romances, or of what untruths Finn might have hinted at before she’d joined them.

Finn rose from his seat and took her hand before she had a chance to fully process the situation. As he bowed, she could see the faces of the others over his shoulders. Her mother looked slightly worried, Octavia curious, and Bellamy...Bellamy's face was impossible to read.

“Mr. Collins, it’s been quite a while,” Clarke murmured, taking a seat beside Bellamy. She may have imagined it, but she was sure he’d shifted his weight away from her.

“I’ve been abroad, I’m sure you heard,” Finn said cheerfully, throwing a charming smile to Octavia.

“Yes, Raven had mentioned it,” Clarke said in a very deliberate tone, watching Finn’s face for signs of displeasure. She wasn't disappointed. Finn blushed, unable to hide his embarrassment.

“I have not yet made time to see my old friend yet but I must.”

Don’t bother, thought Clarke as she took a sip of her tea. Glancing over at Bellamy, she could see his jaw set in a hard line. It seemed clear he was not amused by the situation.

The rest of tea was as painfully awkward as the start. Only Octavia seemed to be enjoying herself.

Bellamy told Octavia he’d take her horseback riding directly after Finn left, and the Blakes left Clarke with her mother and a strangely heavy conscience.

“Clarke, you must see that this is slightly inappropriate,” Abby chided gently the minute they were alone.

“I hardly see how I could have avoided it,” Clarke replied, “I had no idea he’d be here.”

Abby sighed. “I should have known. That is not what he indicated to us.”

“He said we’d been in communication?” Clarke was indignant. “And you believed him?”

“I ought to have seen his true motives, I admit. I’m very sorry to have doubted you, dear.”

“He’s clearly trying to drive a wedge between myself and my—Bellamy.”

Abby paused as a maid swept into the room for the tea tray and back out again.

“My dear, I hope it is not presumptuous for me to tell you that I think you ought to find your husband as soon as possible and undo the damage that Mr. Collins has done today.”

Clarke worried her lower lip, but after a moment realized her mother was right. 

She made her way outside where she found Octavia, dressed in her riding clothes.

“Clarke!” Her face lit up with delight. “Are you coming with us? You had better change!”

“No, I just need to speak to your brother.”

“He’s already at the stables. You can walk with me if you like.” Octavia’s eyes were sparking, if not with mischief, then something akin to it. “That friend of yours, Mr. Collins…he’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Clarke chuckled. “He certainly thinks so.”

“Have you known him long?”

“Long, but not well. I met him when I was about your age, actually. But he’s been abroad for many years.”

“He mentioned that. He had some very fascinating stories…”

Octavia’s first impression of Finn Collins seemed to be very similar to Clarke's own, which worried her slightly. “Yes, fascinating to be sure. But Octavia, you must remember that men like Mr. Collins are all flash, no substance. It’s much better to befriend people who have a steadiness and good characters—“

“Like my brother, I know,” Octavia said matter of factly. “Sometimes I do find that a bit boring.”

They had just reached the stables, giving Clarke no time to correct Octavia before Bellamy saw them. He was clearly surprised to find Clarke there. She’d never gone riding with them, knowing it was hard for the two of them to find time to spend together alone.

“Were you planning—“

“No,” Clarke replied decidedly. “Do you have just a moment before—“ Clarke paused, glancing at Octavia.

“Octavia, go help Ilian saddle your horse,” Bellamy commanded, and they were left alone for a moment.

Clarke didn't waste any time diving right in.

“My mother has informed me that Mr. Collins was not fully forthright when it came to the introduction he made for himself earlier.”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “The two of you weren't engaged years ago?”

He wasn't going to make this easy.

“No,” Clarke huffed, “we were…very briefly, I was young and foolish and going behind my parents’ backs, and I had no idea what kind of a man he really was. That part is true. I mean that I had no idea that he was going to be calling today.”

Bellamy turned away to rub the neck of his horse, who waited patiently by his side. Clarke tried to gauge his emotional state in vain, all she could see were his broad shoulders and curling hair.

“No idea?” he asked in a low voice.

“Not the slightest,” Clarke continued, relieved, “Raven had mentioned that he was back in town—“

“So the two of you could arrange to meet in a more clandestine setting?”

Clarke’s heart began to pound wildly. “What? No! So that I might be able to avoid him as much as possible.”

Bellamy turned back, his brow furrowed in anger. “I now see the true intention of the conversation prior to our engagement. When you said you didn't mind if I had an arrangement, as I believe you called it, it was only so that you wouldn't feel any guilt over yours.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped as the meaning of his words swept over her. This was all starting to feel like a horrible nightmare.

“That’s not what I meant, not at all! You must believe me…I have no such arrangement, and I do not intend to.”

Bellamy surveyed her coldly. He clearly did not believe her. She felt the desperation in her building.

“Please, Bellamy….please. You must see that this is all ridiculous jealousy of some kind.”

“Yes, how absurd of me to imagine my wife to be faithful.”

Clarke drew herself up, though the tears pricked at her eyes. “Faithful to what? You know what this is as much as I do—“

“I’m aware what I am to you, yes. I intend to remain true to that, and nothing more.”

And with those words, Bellamy turned away and led his horse out of the barn.

Octavia was hesitating at the other end of the stables. Clearly their argument had carried.

Clarke wiped her eyes and took off at a run towards the house. She slipped in through the kitchen entrance and up the back stairs and threw herself into bed, where she remained until it grew dark. Her mother was dining with Marcus Kane that evening, so she didn't have to worry her absence would be noted. She knew Bellamy would not be expecting her.

He didn't come to bed until well after midnight. Clarke was still awake, writing a letter to Raven at her desk. She intended to send it over at first light, which wouldn't be long now.

She turned when the door opened. He had dressed for dinner somehow, probably one of the suits he’d left in his old chambers. Clarke felt the tightness growing in her chest again as she looked at him. His face was an unreadable mask in the low light. He stared at her briefly, and was gone.

He didn't emerge from his dressing room until early the next morning. Clarke had just sent her letter over to Raven and gone back to bed when she heard him make his way downstairs. To do what, she didn't know. This was their life now. They were at odds again. And Clarke was growing more exhausted by the hour.

—

Raven was the first to tell Clarke that she obviously had feelings for Bellamy, and suggest that he harbored some for her as well.

“I don’t know why you think that,” argued Clarke. They were talking a walk in the gardens and enjoying the last of the summer air. “His actions towards me have been nothing but cold and unpleasant since he arrived. Need I remind you that he thinks of me?”

“You needn’t,” chuckled Raven softly. “But why else would he react so strongly to the suggestion by an untrustworthy man that that you were lying to him?”

“Because he’s a Philistine of a man with no notion of who I really am and no interest in finding out.”

“You don't think you might possibly be judging him as harshly as he is you?”

“Why do you insist on taking his side over mine?”

“That’s not it at all. But you must see how twisted this has become. He’s as stubborn as you are, and you’re so miserable, Clarke. I don’t like seeing you this way.”

Clarke thrust her chin in the air and adjusted her hat. “There's nothing that can be done.”

“Have you spoken to him at all since the stables?”

“Barely. He’s been throwing himself into learning the management of the house, probably so that when he decides to push me out he won’t need me or my mother’s help.”

“Or, perhaps, because he needs to occupy his time somehow.”

“He doesn't come to bed until well after I do,” Clarke continued, ignoring her. “And he sneaks out early in the morning before I wake. If he’s not in the library or the stables, he’s hiding in his study with the door locked. Even Jasper seems on edge this days.”

“Poor Jasper.”

Clarke sighed deeply. “Maybe I need a holiday. Some time away. How would you like to go with me?”

Raven laced her arm through Clarke’s. “Where shall we go?”

“Somewhere Finn Collins has never been. And somewhere Bellamy Blake can’t follow.”

They decided on a trip to the North, accompanied by Roan. He had family there, and Clarke enjoyed his company nearly as much as Raven’s, so it was an easy choice.

She considered asking Bellamy to let Octavia accompany them, and she saw his study door left open one day and decided to try him.

He was clearly surprised to see her when she made herself known to him. They hadn't been alone since that day in the stables.

“Is there something you need? I’m quite busy.”

Clarke glanced at the book he was holding. “Yes, Plato waits for no man. This won’t take long.” She seated herself opposite his desk. “I’m taking a trip shortly. With Raven, and Roan too.” She knew he liked Roan, and it would put his jealousy, however unjustified, at rest. “I wonder if you think Octavia would like to come.”

“I think my sister will do better away from your influence,” he replied shortly, and picked up his book.

Clarke’s cheeks flushed, and she stood up quickly. “Very well. I see you have not changed your mind toward me in the slightest.”

He didn't respond, and she made her way upstairs to pack. They left two days later, and she didn't exchange another word with him in that time.

The fresh air and sunshine did Clarke good, and after only a few days away she was starting to feel more like herself. She almost forgot she barely had a penny to her name and her husband hated her.

She had always enjoyed Raven’s company, even more now that she had fewer friends than ever before. Raven knew better than to remind her of her circumstances, and they spent their days shopping, laughing, and attending parties composed entirely of people they neither knew nor cared about.

Clarke received quite a startling letter towards the end of her trip. She’d had a few from her mother, and Octavia as well, always full of mundane details, but had never expected to receive one from Bellamy.

Her first thought was that something was horribly wrong, but she of course realized he would have phoned if that were the case. Setting her hat on the desk in the flat they’d rented, she eagerly tore open the letter, heart pounding.

_Clarke,_

_You must be wondering what cause I have to write you. I know that you and I parted on very poor terms, and it pains me to think that I may have negatively influenced your state of mind in any way._

_I must apologize, first for the accusations of unfaithfulness I leveled against you, and second for the manner in which I have treated you during the course of our marriage._

_Mr. Collins you were right to call a duplicitous schemer. I have discovered that he has been making himself quite familiar with my sister. I have no doubt that when he realized you were not available he moved on to her with the intention of attaining a fortune one way or another. Your mother and I have sent him packing, and he will no longer be welcome at Griffin Manor. I do not doubt that you are relieved at this news. I must beg your forgiveness for ever doubting that you would think on him with anything but contempt._

_I have not been a friend to you this last year. You are well within your rights to hate me and refuse to give me a chance to redeem myself, but I know that the odds are slight. Either way, I think you will find that you may be released from your commitment to me very soon, if you so choose. I will leave that up to your mother to reveal upon your return. Until that time I remain,_

_Yours,_

_Bellamy Blake_

Clarke reread the letter three times in quick succession, but each time had less of an idea what he meant in the conclusion. She couldn't wrap her head around it. She had no choice but to return home and speak to him in person.

—-

The trip home was uneventful, and when Clarke finally reached her home again she felt unmitigated relief wash over her at the sight of the familiar drive. Nothing could ever compare to that feeling.

Bellamy was the first person she saw. He was waiting in the drawing room, book in his lap. He rose as soon as she entered, and the change in his manner could have been seen across a crowded ballroom. His face was full of chagrin, and behind that, something that looked like hope.

“You look well.”

Clarke smiled. “I’m covered in dust and smoke.”

“That’s what I was used to before I lived here,” Bellamy replied, smiling in return.

“I got your letter.”

“I hoped you had.”

“I...I am so sorry for what happened with Octavia, truly. I should have warned you...”

“I believe you tried. Your mother had her eye on her, and she realized what was going on long before I would have. My sister is very angry with me now, but she’ll forgive me in time.”

“She’s lucky to have you as a brother,” Clarke said, without thinking.

Bellamy flushed.

Clarke took a step closer. “I wanted to apologize in return. I haven't exactly been trying to get along on my side, either.”

Bellamy shook his head. “I know you may think that, but believe me, this has been almost entirely my fault. I’ve done nothing but make as ass of myself since arriving here. I’ve barely given you a chance, and for that I’m truly sorry. I know now that you are not the person I thought you were. I should never have judged you so harshly.”

“I may have judged you a bit as well,” Clarke said, flushing slightly.

Bellamy took a step closer to her, and took her hand, still clad in driving gloves. “I forgive you, though your actions hardly require an apology. Do you accept mine?”

Clarke looked into his eyes, and for the first time saw not a hint of malice or distrust. “I do.”

What might have happened next is unsure, because Octavia burst into the room, quickly followed by Lady Griffin.

“Clarke! You’re home! It’s been so awful without you,” the girl cried as she threw herself into Clarke’s arms.

Clarke hid her laughter as she looked up at Bellamy. He bit back a smile of his own, and his eyes were dancing.

“Octavia, dear, I need to speak with Clarke, will you excuse us?” Abby asked, placing a hand gently on Octavia’s shoulder.

Octavia screwed up her face and looked up at Clarke. “Do you promise to come have tea with me afterwards?”

“I promise,” Clarke replied solemnly.

“I have business of my own to attend to, I’ll see you both later.” Bellamy nodded at Abby, met Clarke’s eye, then followed his sister from the room.

Clarke collapsed onto the settee, the exhaustion from her journey finally catching up to her.

“My dear, you do look better,” Abby said, her relief palpable. “I hope you are well.”

“A holiday was just what I needed,” Clarke sighed. “But I can’t believe all that I missed. Finn Collins, and Octavia. What a nightmare…”

“It’s over now. Your husband handled it quite well, if I do say so myself. She’s still distressed, but she’s young. She’ll be fine, just like you were.”

Clarke smiled ruefully. “Yes, I suppose so.” As she remembered Bellamy’s letter she frowned. “Bellamy said you had something to tell me? I was quite confused by his letter, but he didn't explain just now…will you tell me?”

Abby smiled, and it was a genuine, deep smile. “I have some news.”

“New? What sort of news?”

“Marcus Kane has proposed. And I’ve accepted.”

Clarke was genuinely surprised. She took a moment to find the words.

“I know that it hasn't been long,” her mother continued, “And I still miss your father very, very much. But Marcus makes me happy, and I him in return. He understands.”

“I—-congratulations, mother,” Clarke leaned forward to embrace her, the tears in her eyes a mix of half a dozen emotions at once.

“We’re to be married this winter.”

“So soon?”

“No need to draw this out, we’re not getting any younger,” Abby teased, brushing her daughter’s hair back from her face.

Clarke laughed, then frowned as she tried to piece together what this had to do with Bellamy’s note.

When she finally realized, the blood drained from her face.

Her mother would move out to live with her new husband, of course. The entire reason she’d stayed married to Bellamy would evaporate.

He may not want her to leave any longer. But he certainly expected her to.


	4. A New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy confronts Clarke about her options. Clarke makes her choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who stuck with me from the beginning, your comments were a big part of my motivation to finish this fic! I hope you enjoy the final chapter.

The next few weeks were busier than the typical holiday season at Griffin Manor. The entire household was busy from well before sunrise to well after sundown. It wasn't only the wedding, of course. Preparations also had to be made for Lady Griffin to leave her home of the past twenty odd years. 

Legally, all the furniture and valuables in the house belonged to Bellamy, and by proxy Clarke. But Bellamy insisted that Abby take whatever she wanted. Abby was grateful, and though she wished to leave most of the family heirlooms with Clarke and her husband, she did take a few small things by which to remember her former life. 

It was mere days before the wedding and Clarke was reading in the parlor, listening to the rain beating against the windows. Bellamy had taken Octavia for an afternoon drive into town, and they were presumably waiting out the rain while Octavia no doubt convinced Bellamy to fill their time shopping.

Abby found her curled up on the settee, a sketchbook idly resting on her lap as she stared out the window.

“You look awfully cozy.”

“Have you finished gathering your things?”

“Very nearly.” 

Abby sat down next to her daughter and wrapped an arm round her. Clarke leaned into her embrace.

“I hope the weather will be dry on Sunday.”

“Mmmmm,” Abby pressed a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “I’m sure it will be.”

Clarke smiled. She’d never fully shared her mother’s optimism, though she’d always admired it. “I’m sure too.”

“I won't be going far, but you know I wouldn't leave if I didn't feel certain you’d be well cared for here.”

Clarke nodded, though she still felt the anxiety clawing at her breast. “I’ll be fine, mother.”

Abby pulled back, her brow creased with worry. “You don't sound very sure of that.”

“I’m not sure of anything, any more,” Clarke confessed, “This past year hasn't gone as I expected, not at all.”

Abby ran a hand over her daughter’s hair. “You seem to have resolved things with Bellamy. Have you not?”

Clarke shook her head. “I don’t know…I don’t know where we go from here.”

“I wouldn't give up just yet.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“Just talk to him, that’s all you need do.”

“You seem very sure it will be somehow different than it has been.”

“I have a suspicion. As much as I love you, and admire him, it’s true that you haven't seen eye to eye on much. I know that he regrets how estranged you’ve been in the past, as do you.”

“You’ve spoken with him about it?”

“While you were away,” Abby nodded, “after the incident with Mr Collins. He apologized to me for any coldness on his part, and confessed that he felt no pleasure thinking back on how he’d treated you so far. He’s carried guilt for that long enough, I think. You’ve both had a hand in each other’s unhappiness, but you know who he is now, and he you. You have the chance to try again, before it’s too late.”

Clarke frowned. She would have wished that he could have been as open with her as he had apparently been with her mother. 

“You married a man nearly as stubborn as you are, dear.”

“Nearly,” Clarke repeated humorously. 

Abby smiled gently. “Yes, nearly. Now use that stubbornness to your advantage. Just talk with him.”

—-

The wedding took place the Sunday before Christmas. Marcus was handsome and gracious, Abby glowed with happiness, and Clarke was able to put aside her worries and celebrate with them.

Christmas Day was quiet that year. Clarke had wanted to give the staff a night off, so dinner was a simple affair. She and Bellamy were seated in the drawing room later that evening, enjoying a glass of wine in front of the fire. Octavia, who had quickly forgiven her brother the moment she’d been distracted by the wedding preparations, was now asleep on his shoulder. 

“I realize that we haven't had much time to speak, the two of us, since the news of your mother’s engagement,” Bellamy said in a low tone, so as not to disturb Octavia. 

“We haven’t,” Clarke replied, trying to keep the rising panic from her voice. “Did you have something that you wanted to discuss?” 

Bellamy turned toward her, his eyes searching her face. “You must know what I’m going to say.”

“I’m not sure I do.” 

Clarke desperately hoped she didn’t. 

Bellamy turned back toward the fire. “You must. I know that the only reason that you agreed to marry me was to ensure your mother's comfort. Now that she’s remarried, you have no cause to carry on this charade. I suspect that you would be far happier if I were to release you from our arrangement. I’m sure we could come up with a financial compromise of some kind that would allow you to live quite comfortably until you remarry—if you so choose, that is.”

Clarke made fists of her hands in the skirt of her dress. She had hoped he would have been more eager to forget their past. She had hoped that maybe, somehow, they could have become a better picture of what a husband and wife ought to be. 

“I thought they were better,” she replied honestly. “Things between us lately.”

Bellamy shook his head as if to convince himself of something he didn't truly believe. “You’ve been so miserable, Clarke. I know people will talk if we get divorced, but you’re young. You can move on, now, before it’s too late. I’ve determined how much of your father’s fortune you can take without putting his estate in jeopardy. It’s a tidy sum that you could live on quite comfortably for the rest of your life, if you chose. And as for the assets—”

“Am I to have any say in this?” Clarke interrupted, her voice quiet but fierce. 

Bellamy stared, mouth hanging slightly open. He clearly hadn't expected her to disagree. 

“We’ve barely given this a real chance, you and I,” Clarke continued. “Who’s to say we can’t make each other happy?”

Bellamy smiled sadly. “You and I both know you deserve more than this, Clarke. I’ve caused you nothing but pain—”

“You’re not hearing me,” Clarke shook her head. “You don't see yourself as more than a thorn in my side, and while that may have been true at first, it’s not true any longer. I respect you, I admire you.” 

Bellamy remained silent. She felt sure he didn't believe her, so she pressed on. 

“You’ve forgiven me for my part in the unpleasantness of the last year and I’ve forgiven you for yours. We’ve come such a long way, you and I. Why abandon this now?”

Bellamy ran a hand over his face before he replied. 

“I know that this decision will weigh on you heavily. I propose that you take your time. I plan to spend some time in London next week on business. I won’t pressure you for an answer in the meantime. Does that sound reasonable enough?”

Clarke drew a ragged breath. “You’re not listening to me. I’m not going to change my mind, Bellamy. I want to give this a chance. You need to believe me.”

“I wish I could, but you deserve better than this, Clarke. You entered into this marriage with the best intentions, but now your reason to stay has evaporated. I won’t trap you here. I won’t have that.”

Clarke pursed her lips in frustration. He was being purposefully dense. 

“I’m going to put Octavia to bed. I leave early tomorrow, so if I don't see you before I go—“

“I’m not changing my mind,” Clarke repeated stubbornly.

A flicker of a smile, beautiful and sad, flitted across his face. 

“You have another choice now, Clarke. Please, just consider what you yourself want.”

She watched him carry Octavia upstairs and to bed, but her mind was too restless to follow. She continued to feed the fire and pace in the drawing room all night, finally falling asleep on the sofa. 

She woke to the sound of Bellamy’s footsteps in the room, head heavy and eyes sore with lack of rest. He had already dressed in his overcoat. She sat up as he knelt next to her, his face full of concern.

“You never came up to bed, I gather.” He reached out as if to brush the hair from her face, but thought better of it at the last second, his face flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to upset you last night.”

Clarke rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “This has been the strangest Christmas in recent memory.”

He smiled, still sadly. Clarke longed to beg him to stay, but bit her tongue.

“You should go to bed,” he murmured, and stood up. “I must be on my way, my train leaves quite soon.”

“You’re not taking the car all the way there?”

“Old habits are hard to break,” he replied, and left her there with that familiar ache in her chest. 

He didn't remind her of his proposal, and he didn't need to. It was all she thought of for days afterwards. 

\--

Bellamy phoned Octavia in the new year and she relayed to Clarke that he’d be a few days later than he’d originally thought. Perhaps he was putting off the conversation due, perhaps not. She had no way of knowing.

Clarke was sure to drive herself mad if she kept to herself indoors, even with the weather as dreary as it continued to be. Raven and Roan were in Paris, Abby was enjoying her new house and husband, and Octavia had resumed her studies, so Clarke threw herself completely into assisting at the hospital. She spent every day for the next week helping Dr Jackson with his patients, for which he was supremely thankful given that nearly all the beds were full this time of year.

She noticed the ring Bellamy had given her all those months ago in her jewelry box one day, and took to wearing it on her left hand in place of her wedding ring. She was clinging, however foolishly, to the hope she’d entertained all those months ago, before it had all gone so horribly wrong.

The day Bellamy was originally meant to come home was as cold and unpleasant a day as they'd had all year. Clarke had been working quite hard and if her mother had been there she would have told her she was beginning to look feverish and warned her to rest. But she wasn't there, and Clarke was determined to lose herself in her work despite the way her muscles ached. She’d found no solace elsewhere. She wore her warmest coat and a woolen shawl over that and set off. The cold air on her cheeks made her feel alive, and if it weren't for the wind it would have been perfectly pleasant walk. 

Dr Jackson had been called to the next town over to assist with a particularly difficult birth, so Clarke had her hands full at the hospital. When a few hours had passed, she began realize the fatigue she was feeling wasn't merely caused by exhaustion. By the time she’d finished and was returning to the house, her entire body felt like it was on fire. Truth be told, she’d had signs of a fever for days but ignored them. Now, her limbs felt weak and her head was buzzing like a hive of bees. She barely made it to bed, and when Zoe saw her she went white as a sheet and quickly fetched Jasper to run for the doctor. The last thing Clarke remembered was seeing Octavia’s worried face over Dr Jackson’s shoulder before she lost consciousness. 

\--

When Clarke woke, it took her a moment to come to. She still felt very feverish and light headed, but she knew the worst was over. Propping herself up on her pillow she saw that she was alone, save for Bellamy who was slouched in a chair at her side. He had been staring off into the distance with a strange look on his face, but the moment he saw her move he sat up straight and reached immediately for her hand. 

Her head was still aching and her limbs sore, but the weight in her chest was lifted, and she couldn't help but smile.

She’s never seen Bellamy look so relieved. 

“You look better,” he murmured, thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.

“You don’t,” Clarke croaked.

Bellamy smirked slightly and handed her a glass of water from the nightstand. 

Clarke drained the whole glass in an instant, wiping the corner of her mouth as she asked, “How long has it been?”

“Three days. I arrived home day before yesterday.” Bellamy’s brow was still furrowed with concern. “Clarke, why didn't you tell anyone you were ill? You could have collapsed anywhere, luckily someone was there…”

“I’m sorry to have taken you away from your business, you needn’t have rushed home.”

“Don’t be absurd. When Octavia phoned me, I knew it was serious. Dr Jackson says you’ll recover in time, but you need to rest for several more days. I should send for him now, actually—“

“Don’t—“ Clarke pleaded, clutching his arm before he could stand. “I feel well enough, you can send for him soon. I—just sit with me a moment, please. I’ve missed you.”

Bellamy flushed. 

“Did you send for my mother?”

“I wrote to her, to tell her you were ill. I didn't know that I should, I know you wouldn’t want to disturb her on her honeymoon. But I expected she’d want to know. She’ll be arriving tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“You really did frighten me,” Bellamy continued, closing his eyes for a moment and holding onto her hand a little more tightly.

“I’m sorry. I was stupid to have continued working when I started to feel ill.”

Bellamy chuckled wryly. “I’ve never heard you so readily admit fault. That must be quite a fever you’ve got.”

Clarke smiled back. “I hope I didn't give Octavia too much of a fright.”

“Not at all. In fact, she was convinced you were pregnant for the first few days.”

“I assume you told her that wasn't possible.”

“Not in so many words…”

Clarke sighed and leaned back on her pillows. “Sorry to disappoint her.”

“She’ll live,” Bellamy replied, “So will you.”

Clarke suddenly remembered the conversation they were meant to be having if she hadn't fallen ill, and the worry must have showed on her face.

“Are you alright?” Bellamy rose to his feet. “I’m going to call the doctor.”

“Please,” Clarke held onto his hand. “It’s not that.”

“What is it?” Bellamy watched her face closely as she gathered the courage to speak.

“I’m rejecting your proposal.”

“You are?” Bellamy’s eyes widened with disbelief. “I truly thought you would have begun proceedings with the lawyer already. You haven’t?”

“I told you I wouldn't change my mind…I want to give this another try. A true one.”

“Clarke…you’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I swear it.”

A smile slowly dawned over his face. “I would very much like that.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then his jaw went slack with surprise.

Clarke glanced down at her hand and realized she was still wearing his mother’s small gold ring. Their eyes met, and her heart began to beat a little faster. 

“I took to wearing it while you were away.”

“I thought you hated it.”

“Not it, only you,” Clarke replied, only a little bashful.

“I’m glad, you know. Glad you didn't change your mind. I just couldn't believe it at first.”

“I wasn't sure you wanted me to stay.”

“Clarke…of course I want you to stay. If I could atone for my past behavior, for how badly I’d misjudged you—“

“Then I would need to do the same. Luckily, we’ve both forgiven each other. No need to dwell in the past. Besides…it’s mostly John Murphy’s fault.”

Clarke finally launched into the story of what had set her against him, leaving Bellamy equal parts horrified and amused. 

“I’ve learned my lesson, it’s the last time I’ll go listening at doors,” Clarke finished.

Bellamy laughed and rose to his feet. “I’m off to call the doctor, no more delays.”

Clarke was suddenly overcome by how far they’d come, how much had happened, and maybe it was the exhaustion or the illness or the late hour but she felt paralyzed with something close to happiness. 

“Bellamy…” the words caught in her throat and her eyes stung with tears. She didn't know what she needed to say, or how to say it.

Bellamy understood.

He exhaled deeply and leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll be alright. Now rest.”

—

Clarke woke the next morning to the presence of Bellamy asleep next to her. It was an unexpected but not unpleasant realization. 

She’d asked him to stay last night, and he had, but she’d assumed he’d steal back to his cot after she’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t. 

He was laying on his back, one arm dangling off the bed, still wearing his shirt and pants, rumpled though they were. The shirt fell open at the collar, and she watched the rise and fall of his chest. She couldn't resist the urge to brush his hair back from his forehead and watched his eyelids flutter as he slowly eased awake. 

“You stayed.”

“After a few days of sleeping in a real bed in London, I realized how much I’d missed it.”

Clarke smirked, but then her face softened. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Bellamy traced her cheek lazily with his forefinger. “So am I.” He sat up and put a hand to her forehead gently. “Your fever’s gone down. How are you feeling?”

“Better. I think I’ll go for a ride today.”

She waited for the horrified expression to cross Bellamy’s face before she laughed outright. 

“Very unkind of you,” he sighed when he realized she was joking, slumping down against the pillows.

“I’m very sorry,” Clarke simpered, turning on her side so that she was facing him.

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not.”

She giggled, and he laughed too, and it was so strange and beautiful to be there, basking in the sunlight, with nothing but affection between them any longer. 

The way she felt when he looked at her no longer felt like tension, or unrest, or sadness. 

It felt like hope.

\--

She grew used to his constant presence at her side. She felt, and suspected he did too, that they had much lost time to make up for. They’d better begin.

They were cautious with each other at first. Bellamy used any excuse to touch her hair, her back, but he didn't press for more. They slept side by side, dined together, went for long walks, spent hours in the library talking, and those hours were unmitigatedly pleasant.

Clarke so glad to have him near she didn't ask for more, though often she found herself yearning for his touch in a more intimate way. He was different with her now: gentler, as though he might break her if he looked at her the wrong way. It eventually grew more annoying than endearing.

It was a month after Bellamy’s return that Clarke reached the end of her rope. She had grown tired of light touches and forehead kisses. She was head over heels in love with her husband, and she felt she’d die if she couldn’t show him that.

They were attending a party at Raven’s, and it had been a lovely evening, but as the hours went by Clarke began to go mad the longer she was trapped in a room with anyone other than Bellamy. She was dancing with Roan when she caught Bellamy’s eye across the room, and it nearly took her breath away.

He was looking at her with the same desire she felt within herself. 

The song ended, and Clarke was drawn to him as if by a string. Leaning up to brush her lips against his ear she whispered, “I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. Walk me home?”

Bellamy seemed alarmed at first, but he paused when he caught the look in her eye. “Are you quite sure?” he asked.

“I am,” she replied, and led him from the room. 

They made their way quickly over the lawn, and no sooner had they crossed into their own gardens then Clarke turned and kissed him desperately on the mouth. It was only a moment before he’d taken her face in both his hands and was reciprocating with equal passion. She’d begun to undo his collar when he began to shake with laughter.

“Do you think we might wait until we’re indoors?” he whispered hoarsely. 

“I don’t think I can,” she breathed. 

“In that case…” he swept her up into his arms, kissed her deeply, and quickly made his way towards the house. No sooner had they reached their rooms then he had thrown her on the bed and began to kiss her on every exposed inch of skin. 

“Do you mind if I remove my stockings?” Clarke asked cheekily, lifting the hem of her skirts to the middle of her thigh.

“You’d better make quick work of it, or you might find yourself a bit distracted,” Bellamy said gruffly, tugging at the stays of her dress.

She never did get around to taking off her stockings. 

—-

“You’re acting very odd,” Octavia said suspiciously over breakfast the next morning. 

Clarke’s eyes met Bellamy’s over the table, and the yawn he was attempting to stifle turned into a grin.

“How’s that, Octavia?” Clarke asked, buttering a piece of toast.

“I don’t know,” Octavia said haughtily. “But you’re both acting different.”

“We were up very late—“

“At Raven’s party,” Bellamy cut in.

“But Jasper said he heard you come in at 10 o’clock last night. That’s not very late.”

“Jasper must have been mistaken,” Bellamy replied, stone faced as he sipped his tea.

Clarke saw Zoe smirk from where she stood next to the buffet and nearly burst out laughing. She’d discovered them in a rather compromising position early that morning. Bellamy, for his part, was blushing furiously, though a smiled tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Is anyone going to tell me what the joke is?” Octavia cried. 

“It’s nothing, Octavia. Finish your breakfast, then lessons.”

Octavia pouted, but nothing was going to dampen the mood for either Bellamy or Clarke that morning, or for a long time after.

—-

“You’re not going to guess who I’ve just received a letter from,” Bellamy said, leaning over Clarke’s shoulder to press a kiss to her cheek. 

Clarke smiled and set down her ledger. “Who?” 

“Mr John Murphy.”

“You’re joking.”

Bellamy threw himself on the sofa across from her desk and smiled.

“Not joking. You’ll never guess what else.”

“What?”

“He’s getting married. He’s invited us to attend.”

Clarke moved to join him, laughing so hard she nearly had tears in her eyes.

“I expect you know what we have to do,” Bellamy continued with mock solemnity.

Clarke brushed the hair from his forehead out of habit, her gaze darting between his eyes and his lips. 

“What’s that?” she teased, “pay a surprise visit to his fiancee?”

Bellamy chuckled. “You're quite wicked, but nothing will surprise him so much as seeing us the way we are now.”

Clarke cocked her head, smiling. “How’s that?” 

Bellamy pressed a kiss to her hand as he replied.

“Happy.”

He’d never been more right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me over on [tumblr!](https://tracylorde.tumblr.com)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it [here](https://tracylorde.tumblr.com/post/175076891278/love-is-a-far-more-dangerous-motive-a-bellarke-au) <3


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